


Flawless

by kesdax



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/pseuds/kesdax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beyonce’s number comes up and shit gets real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flawless

**Author's Note:**

> For liveinaworldofmagic who wanted Shaw and Reese arguing over who gets to deal with Beyonce’s number. This fic is kinda ridiculous I apologise in advance.

“You know,” said Finch conversationally over the comms, “I think this is the first A-list celebrity we’ve dealt with.”

Shaw grunted in response, although she doubted him or anyone else had heard. New York’s rush hour was rowdy and obnoxious as usual. And these heels really weren’t made for walking either, but Shaw hadn’t had the time to get changed after finishing her shift at the department store.

“I’ve got this one, Reese,” Shaw said, sidestepping to pass a mother and her stroller who had stopped to comfort her crying child. Shaw scowled at them, then up at the blackening clouds in the sky, daring it to rain. It could hardly make her shitty day any worse. “Aren’t you supposed to be staying on your Captain’s good side?”

“No offence, Shaw,” said Reese and he sounded annoyed, again, that she seemed to be enjoying his current day job predicament, “but how do you expect to get past the more than likely high security at this place without a badge?”

Shaw snorted. “Please, this isn’t the first gig I’ve gate-crashed.”

“Still,” Finch piped up, “perhaps this would be best handled by Ms Shaw. Especially considering Detective Riley is under scrutiny at the moment.”

“I’ve got this, Finch,” Reese insisted. “Besides I’m almost there.”

Shaw scowled at that. Her new cover couldn’t afford a car, but she thought she might just be able to scrounge up enough for a cab. Not that it mattered in this traffic. The subway was her best bet and even then there was no way in hell she would get there before Reese. Or before they could save their new number.

“Why you so eager anyway, Reese?” said Shaw with a smirk. “You a fan?”

“Maybe,” said Reese.

“Oh really,” said Shaw. “Name one of her songs.”

“Uh,” said Reese. “Well there was….”

“Naughty Girl,” said Finch.

“Excuse  _me_?” said Shaw.

“From the album Dangerously In Love,” Finch explained quickly. “Released 2003. I downloaded the entire discography. It’s not to my tastes, but I suppose I can see the appeal.”

“The appeal?” said Shaw. “You mean she’s hot.”

“Oh,” said Reese and Shaw could hear the grin in his voice. “So  _that’s_  why you wanted to deal with this by yourself, Shaw.”

“That is not -” Shaw began, clenching her fists tightly. Her heels clattered loudly against the subway steps as she descended.

“Better not let Root find out,” Reese continued.

“What’s  _that_  supposed to mean?” Shaw narrowed her eyes, picking up her pace when she spotted her train pull into the station.

“Nothing,” said Reese unconvincingly.

Shaw didn’t have time to defend herself or offer a comeback. The train car was packed and Shaw had to squeeze herself in between the crowd already inside. More and more commuters followed her. Arms and limbs everywhere, Shaw ended up pushed more times than was recommended when said person was carrying a concealed firearm. She eventually ended up wedged between the window and a guy in dark blue coveralls covered in paint who reeked of body odour so bad that Shaw, if her stomach hadn’t been trained to deal with all sorts of smells during medical school and her residency, would have gagged and possibly lost the remainder of her lunch.

Thankfully, the guy got off two stops later and Shaw could breathe a little easier.

“Shaw,” said Reese over the comms, “what’s your ETA?”

“About ten stops,” said Shaw under her breath. “Why?”

“I think I’m gonna need your help after all.”

Shaw didn’t bother keeping the smirk off her face. “Queen B. too much for you to handle?”

“I don’t know yet,” Reese grunted. “I didn’t get in.”

The train pulled into the next stop. This time more people got off than got on and Shaw was able to move out of the way of any potential eavesdroppers.

“What happened to “you’ll need a badge to get past the high security”?” said Shaw.

“Well,” said Reese slowly and she could tell he was reluctant to admit it. “Apparently they thought it was a fake.”

Shaw shrugged at that. Hardly surprising considering why this number came up in the first place. At least they were taking the threat seriously, even if it was one of many.

“We got any more info on our stalker, Finch?” Shaw asked.

“I managed to track some of the pieces of mail back to a small town in Italy,” Harold explained. “Although the last three were sent from New York.”

“So our guy’s definitely in the city,” said Shaw.

“Or woman,” said Harold. “They signed each letter as “Freddy” and what looks like the lipstick marks of a kiss.”

“So woman then,” said Shaw. “Doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

“No,” said Harold, for the first time sounding worried. “I suggest you and Mr Reese get inside Madison Square Garden as soon as possible. If I still had my usual funds this would be a lot easier.”

“We’ll find a way in, Finch,” said Shaw.

“Yes, well,” said Finch and Shaw couldn’t tell if his scolding tone was directed at her or Reese. “Try  _not_  to get on Samaritan’s radar while doing it. The amount of cameras at this event…It’s too high profile. I don’t like it.”

“It’ll be fine, Harold,” said Reese. “We just need to get inside.”

Ten stops later, her brightest smile - although she thought her cleavage in this dress had more to do with it than anything else - at the lonely security guard watching the back entrance and Shaw and Reese were inside.

“Maybe this new day job of your is good for something after all,” Reese commented as they made their way down the corridor. Several doors led off it to various storage rooms and some were marked  _Danger! Do Not Enter_. Shaw highly doubted they would find their stalker lurking down here.

“Meaning?” said Shaw tightly.

“Just… you know,” Reese said awkwardly, gesturing in the general direction of Shaw’s breasts.

Shaw glared at him, deciding it was best she didn’t think too much about  _why_ , exactly, Reese was staring at her cleavage.

“I wasn’t looking or anything!” he said quickly, turning a deep shade of pink that reminded Shaw of the inside of a steak cooked just right. “I mean, that would be…” He laughed - more like choked - clumsily. “I don’t…I’ve never thought of you that way… I-”

“Reese,” said Shaw. “Shut up.”

Reese looked relieved and pointedly looked in the opposite direction.

“Finch, we need to get to the dressing rooms,” said Shaw. “Any ideas?”

“Yes,” said Finch. “I’ve just retrieved the building plans now. If you head straight along the corridor you’re in there should be a stairwell at the end. Three flights up and you’ll find the backstage area.”

“Let’s move,” said Shaw.

Reese nodded and picked up his pace, Shaw keeping up and cursing the heels she was wearing. Normally, she would have just abandoned them, but with her day job paying like crap she couldn’t afford to lose a decent pair of shoes. She scowled at the thought. Never in her life had she been concerned about this kind of thing. Yet here she was, concerned about breaking a heel or tearing her dress.

The stairwell was where Harold had said it would be. Reese took the stairs three at a time, leaving Shaw to struggle behind, feet aching.

“Mr Reese,” said Finch over the comms. The worry in his voice made Reese pause. “I managed to access the security company’s radio frequency. I don’t think you have much time.”

“We’re on it,” said Reese, breaking into a run.

Shaw swore under her breath, kicking her shoes off and following him with them clutched in her hand. She’d been looking forward to stabbing someone with her stiletto ever since she’d bought the damn things. Now she might just get her chance.

It seemed every available space was being used to store costumes and props. Back up dancers and musicians were coming and going, rushing about to get everything set up for the show that started in less than fifteen minutes.

The star herself was nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll bet our stalker’s wherever she is,” Shaw muttered.

“We should split up,” Reese suggested.

Shaw nodded and they turned in opposite directions. Shaw kept her eyes peeled for anything unusual, anyone who looked out of place. Well apart from her and Reese that was, she thought, realising suddenly that Reese was going to stand out in that suit of his. She could get away with her black dress, hopefully, but everyone seemed so busy they didn’t pay her any mind.

Which meant that whoever was after their number was just gonna breeze through here with no problem at all.

And so, apparently, was Root.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“The Machine sent me,” said Root, flashing Shaw that smirk that always, without a doubt, got on her nerves and put her in a bad mood.

Shaw narrowed her eyes, not believing her. Since when did Root help them out with numbers before or after Samaritan came online?

“Is this you checking up on me again?” said Shaw. She hadn’t seen Root hovering around her makeup counter for over a week, so she was due a visit.

“No,” said Root, stepping back slightly as a man wearing a gold feather boa and not much else squeezed past them. “I had some free time and the Machine thought I could help.”

It wasn’t the way Root said it, more like the way she decidedly looked away that made Shaw know she was lying.

“You’re here for the number, aren’t you?”

“No,” said Root a little too quickly.

“Sure Jan,” said Shaw and continued walking down the corridor.

Root followed her, grabbing onto Shaw’s elbow and pulling her through a door on their left.

“In here,” said Root, but Shaw, hearing a commotion within the room, was already moving without Root’s assistance.

“Finch, I think we found our number and her stalker.”

“Is she alright?”

Shaw didn’t answer. Instead she took out her gun, watching Root do the same with a taser.

“I doubt that will be necessary,” said Root. She had that look on her face again. The cryptic one that said she knew exactly what was going on, what you had for breakfast and what colour underwear you were wearing. Root’s eyebrow shot up, a smirk played at her lips and for a second Shaw thought she had said that last part out loud and wanted nothing more than to punch a hole in the wall and run.

But the smile wasn’t directed at her.

Shaw scowled and looked behind her, finding the source of the commotion she’d heard and stared.

The photoshoots and music videos really didn’t do her justice, to be honest. Oh no, they really  _really_  didn’t.

“Damn,” said Shaw.

“Wow,” said Root.

“I just want you to love me!” cried the stalker, far younger than Shaw had been expecting and currently attempting to encompass their number it what looked like a bear hug.

Noticing that they were no longer alone, the number stared at Root and Shaw like she couldn’t believe even more people were invading her dressing room. She wasn’t scared or panicking. She just looked pissed.

“Oh for god sake,” said Shaw, handing her gun to a now drooling Root. She stepped forward, grabbed the stalker - Freddy - by the elbow and punched her in the face. Shaw barely felt it. Nothing more than a ripple up her arm, but the stalker crumpled to the floor in a heap of limbs. Shaw sighed, wondering if she should have used her stilettos instead, but figured the less bloodshed in this situation the better and pulled her shoes back on.

“What the fuck,” said the number. “Who are you people?”

“Just a concerned third party,” said Shaw.

“ _Or_ ,” said Root,“you could say that we’re flawless ladies. God damn.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Seriously?” said Shaw, glaring at Root over her shoulder. “You’re hitting on Beyoncé?”

Root shrugged. “Well who wouldn’t?”

Shaw couldn’t really disagree with that.

“Look, I really have to go. But here,” said Beyoncé, reaching to one of the dressing tables behind her and picking up two ID badges. “All access VIP passes for backstage and they’ll get you into the front row. Come join me for the after party later, but I really have to get on stage.” She handed a pass each to Root and Shaw, disappearing out the door.

“Wow,” said Root, staring at the pass in her hand. “Partying with Beyoncé…”

“You know she’s married, right?”

“Please,” said Root, shooting Shaw a patronising gaze. “As if my moral compass stretches that far.”

Shaw shrugged. It wasn’t like hers did either.

“What do we do with her?” said Shaw, gesturing to the still unconscious stalker.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure Detective Riley can handle that,” said Root. “Come on, we’re going to miss the show.”

Root linked her arm through Shaw’s and together they headed out to see the show.


End file.
